


Yellow Daisies

by Reaping



Series: Artsy April [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Open Ending, Post canon, Stiles POV, coming home, deputy!Derek, offscreen less than canon-typical violence, that is not really central to this story, yellow daisies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 4th Prompt: Flowers</p><p>"“Was this you?” His free hand gestured at the flowers, eyebrows raised."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing a lovely challenge with some friends called Artsy April. They'll be doing art, but since I cannot draw or paint or sculpt or do basically anything art-related to save my life, I'm doing a daily fic. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> If I missed tags let me know. Concrit is always welcome and appreciated.

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He felt the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes, a sense of pained awe building in his chest at the sight before him. It had been three years since he’d come back to Beacon Hills – he told people it was school, he had so much work, and it was so expensive that he stayed to work the summers, but it was mostly a lie. He was afraid that if he came back here, he’d never be able to leave again – not because he couldn’t and wouldn’t walk away, but because this place had a way of destroying people, and he didn’t want to die here. This year he didn’t have a choice. Parrish was the one who had to call him, a robbery gone wrong. He came home in a panic, the nearly four hour drive up from Santa Barbara a complete blur. He’s not even sure that he actually parked the jeep in a parking space, thinks he might have left it angled in the middle of a lane with the engine running and the door hanging open. The first few nurses he’d encountered on his run into the hospital didn’t recognize him, but he pushed past them anyhow, ignoring the angry shouts directed at him, or calling for security, or both probably. He’s not sure about that either. Nothing really registered until Melissa practically clotheslined him to make him stop moving. She wouldn’t let go until he was looking at her, until the fuzz in his ears cleared and he could hear the things she was trying to tell him. It all still boiled down to only a few words he really understood: surgery, massive bleeding, repaired, coma. When he nodded at her that he understood, she took him by the hand, waving back the security that was approaching cautiously. She led him to the ICU and the private room that her connections and his status as the county sheriff had afforded him. Parrish and another deputy he didn’t recognize were waiting outside the room, they stood as he approached. Jordan embraced him before moving aside so Stiles could move into the room itself.

His father looked so small in the bed, an oxygen mask covering his face and tubes running into his arm. He could hear the faint beeping of the heart monitor, slow and steady. The room was flooded with the smell of daisies, drowning out the typical antiseptic smell of a hospital. There were vases full of the bright yellow flowers covering nearly every surface of the room. He didn’t understand who would do this, who would even know, but he was so grateful he was on the verge of completely breaking down. He closed his eyes to try and stop the tears, but that only intensified the smell, triggering a cascade of sense-memories. He managed to stumble into the chair next to his father’s bed, gripping the man’s hand tightly in his own. He could feel the tears slip free, silently coursing down his face. Memories of his mother came rushing back, her delighted laugh when she received a bouquet at each birthday and anniversary. It had started when Stiles was so young that he doesn’t really remember it, but she’d told him the story often enough – they’d gone for a walk on her birthday, he was just starting to understand what those meant, and when they came across the patch of yellow daisies growing wild he had scrambled to collect a bunch of them, smiling as he handed them to her proudly and told her happy birthday. It became a tradition, one his father picked up on. It carried on even after her death, the two of them going together to lay the fresh bouquets on her grave three times a year now. He’d never told anyone about it, it was personal. Seeing them here, filling his father’s room, was more than he could handle. He was startled out of his reverie by someone clearing their throat in the doorway. He turned in his seat, hand still tightly clasped around his father’s, and felt his eyes widen in surprise, enough to stem the flow of tears.

“Derek?” The man still looked good, all these years later, mostly the same but with a bit of grey peppered through his beard and at his temples. He was in a deputy’s uniform and Stiles knew his mouth had dropped open slightly, but he couldn’t make it close.

“Hi.” It was quiet, like if he spoke louder he’d wake the sheriff, only that would be a good thing right now so Stiles wasn’t really sure why he bothered.

“What are you? When did? How?” He couldn’t make himself finish a sentence. Derek stepped fully into the room, mostly closing the door behind him to give them some semblance of privacy, carefully moving the chair from the far side of the bed next to the one Stiles still occupied. He cleared his throat once more, glancing around the room before setting his gaze back on Stiles and speaking.

“Almost three years. Just after you and Lydia left for college.” The inhalation from Stiles at this news was loud enough that even he could hear it.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I asked them not to.” He continued quickly, before Stiles could interrupt, the indignant expression easy to read on his face. “I took time to settle in. Applied at the department, passed the tests. You didn’t come back for Christmas break that year. I was at your dad’s when you broke the news to him that you were staying to work. I could hear the way your heart started beating faster when he asked if you were coming back, could hear the tick when you lied about how you couldn’t – figured you needed to stay away. This place…you know how this place is. I thought it would be better, the longer you could stay out. You were out. And then you just kept not coming back, and I didn’t want to give you a reason to.”

“Give me…what?” Stiles was sputtering, because he knew what Derek meant, what was implied, but he never knew that Derek _knew_.

“Stiles…I’m not dumb, and I’m not unobservant. I saw it, the way you looked at me; it was like the way you used to look at Lydia but also…more. I could hear it in your heartbeat when you talked to me. Smell the chemosignals.”

“I never meant…”

“I know. I know you didn’t. You never said, and you tried to hide it, but…” He shrugs as he trails off, not needing to spell out that he couldn’t help but see the things Stiles had tried so desperately to conceal.

“Then why–?”

“You needed to go Stiles, staying here wasn’t good for you. It wasn’t good for me, it’s why I left. I wasn’t healthy. I’m better now, better than I was. You needed to get better to, to find a way to heal. So I asked them not to tell you. I figured, if you came back, maybe then we could talk about this. If there was still something to talk about. Is there?” It was Stiles’ turn to clear his throat, more of a stalling tactic than anything. His eyes flickered around the room, overwhelmed again by the sheer number of daisies spread out around it.

“Was this you?” His free hand gestured at the flowers, eyebrows raised. A faint blush rose on Derek’s cheeks as he nodded the affirmative. “How did you know?” Derek swallowed hard before he answered.

“I could smell them, every year, when you’d come back from the cemetery. Once I saw you laying them when I was passing by. I thought, they’re for healing too, and maybe the smell would help.” When he finishes speaking, the tips of his ears have gone as red as his cheeks. It’s the worst timing for everything he’s feeling, but Stiles can’t help it. He leans towards Derek, free hand fisting in his shirt, and hauls him closer, mouths meeting in a kiss that is far more tender than he expected or intended. His lips part, the kiss deepening softly. He feels the faint squeeze against the hand still holding his father’s just as Derek pulls back. There’s a groan from the bed before a muffled voice speaks.

“Stiles?” His father’s eyes open, and the sudden relief is like a weight lifting off his chest. He drops his father’s hand to pick up the call button and get a nurse to page the doctor. When he looks back over at Derek, he can see the relief in his face as well, a smile breaking across his face and his eyes crinkling. Stiles thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time, maybe forever. He can’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing Derek again.

“Seriously, I am right here. Save that for when I’m not in the room.” The fond annoyance in the sheriff’s tone startles laughter from Stiles and Derek both, and Stiles is so glad he’s finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come poke at me on [tumblr](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com)!


End file.
